This week, an ex-client of mine was featured as part of a documentary on national television. The documentary detailed some of his story, particularly that of his distinguished career as a police officer and the traumas he had faced throughout.
My client, the producer, and I have been in touch to prepare him for viewing the documentary, complete with re-enactments of events, and interviews with many of the people involved – no small feat for someone who actively manages symptoms of posttraumatic stress disorder on a daily basis.
And this week, I watched this documentary and cried.
Don’t get me wrong, I know the story. Of all the clients who have recounted traumatic stories to me over the years, I recall this one with precise clarity.
Perhaps because of the sheer horror. But, more likely, I suspect my memory is so sharp because of this man’s spirit in the face of such horror. So, it’s not like I didn’t know what to expect when I turned on the TV.
The thing is, when I’m working, the emotional part of my brain takes a distant backseat to the logical, rational part of my brain.
I can hear the most traumatic of stories and empathise with the pain, but I don’t live in the pain.
Instead, I’m thinking about creating meaning, making sense out of the experience, and gently and carefully weaving the processing we do back into the present moment. It’s not that I feel nothing. I feel a lot. It’s just that those feelings inform my work in the therapeutic space and I try my best not to take it home with me.
But I wasn’t at work when I turned on the TV. I was just a person with a cup of earl grey tea and a career-defining interest in how humans do life. And in 65 minutes, a story that was only two-dimensional in my mind was brought to life in a powerful and beautiful tribute to the strength of light in humanity.
[ctt template=”1″ link=”X16d4″ via=”yes” ]I’m just a person with a cup of earl grey tea and an interest in how humans do life.[/ctt]
I cried for the senseless acts humans inflict on other humans. I cried for the lifelong impact that pulses in the background of the lives of those left in the aftermath. And I cried from the bittersweet inspiration born of the courage of this man, and those in this story.
This courage is the kind of courage that can only be seen in the dark.
It’s the brightest of lights that flickers against all that is revolting and monstrous. It is resilience and hope and goodness. It is proof that the power of humanity lies not in the darkness, but in the light that pierces it. It’s proof that the light will always triumph.
Triumphant light looks like this:
- Someone putting their hand up to show their scars just in case it makes one other person feel better about their own scars.
- Someone acknowledging that they are still hurting years later, but choosing to trust others to help them through.
- A man crying openly in a society that says he should bury his feelings.
- The creation of a life of contribution and meaning even after that life was shattered a few times over.
- The love for family and friends and life itself that defines so much more than the actions of those determined to harm.
[ctt template=”1″ link=”7e06d” via=”yes” ]Triumphant courage is a man crying openly in a society that says he should bury his feelings.[/ctt]
Outside of this particular story, I want to say that darkness is relative and every single one of us has experienced it.
I know it hurts and recovery is never, ever simple or linear. But I wish for you that your own triumphant light flickers in your heart.
That it’s there to guide you forward, even if it’s only lighting the way for one more step right now.
